


Brothers

by blueswan



Category: Angel: the Series
Genre: Dark, Gen, Post: s05e22 Not Fade Away
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-06-12
Updated: 2014-06-12
Packaged: 2018-02-04 10:37:52
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 986
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1776067
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/blueswan/pseuds/blueswan
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Remember when dark!fic comms were popping up all over fandom? This never got posted to one. </p>
<p>Originally posted Feb. 2005.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Brothers

It's always an alley. We're in it deep, surrounded by demons and devils and things I can't name. Slowly they pushed us back and back until we are in a half-circle formation, a chain-link fence at our backs. Gunn is down, so near to dead it makes no difference at this point. We've spread out far enough to avoid accidentally decapitating each other.

A few times a demon or two has breached our line with tentacles or arms. Grabbed Gunn's foot or leg, hand or arm, and tried to drag him out of the circle. Those things die. I glance back and see his bared feet gleaming wetly in the dark. He's ours - never food.

Slimy drool drops wetly against my face and it burns blinding me briefly. Damned mucous demons. There should be screams -theirs, ours - but it's silent. Almost like we are under a Cone of Silence or fighting in another dimension.

Nothing exists but the fight, hacking and slashing and biting and spiting. Ducking and whirling from blows that miss - not unbloodied or whole but still existing. Still continuing. Standing. As though this were a training exercise for the things we face. Our personal demons come from under the bed to dance with us tonight.

Why? To teach us a lesson, to punish us, to make sure we learn from our mistakes. Not demons then, but more like an evil daddy, bad dogging us, tsking in annoyance. Parental rights…mine. Connor. Fuck. I suck in air as I haven't for hours and scream, "Enough."

Spike wipes gore from his face, and waits glaring into the darkness. Illyria pauses before ripping a demon's head from its shoulders. Then he turns - god-king inquisitive - and impassively waits.

We stand leaning on swords or axes, and wait. Beads of red shines through the wet like a spotlight. It's a portal - I watch it widen and deepen. I don't know what is coming, but something is on the way. I can feel it through my shoes, throbbing and pulsing more strongly every second. It's wrong in so many ways, but mostly because that beat should have sound accompaniment. And the silence is louder; echoing through my head pretending to be real.

When the red darkens to black, but black does not glisten and slide like that, wailing shrieks - terrified, frustrated, and enraged - split the silence apart. Splits it open as easily as bellies open and spill entrails into my hands. Spills the noise of thousands back into our ears as easily as pouring white sand into the mouth of one that tries futilely to spew it back out.

Wailing sirens ever approaching and never reaching the alley, the hum of overhead wires, and the buzz of the lights atop lampposts. Faintly a heart wavering and pausing, resuming and tripping over itself to be hear. Thank god.

Pop! I hear that too.

And once again, the tall shiny man prissy and pristine stands in front of me. Towers in his fancy suit and disdainful attitude, with not an ounce of righteousness in him. Soulless and owned, and he shows his pride in his masters easily with his eyes.

"You are released."

Spike snorts, and says, "That's it. We're 'released'. Who the hell do you think you are?"

"We are the power here. L.A. is ours. You get out free and clear. Go on to fight another day - somewhere else."

"Why?"

Illyria, glints sparking all round, casts his eyes upon the ambassador. "Halfling, I've known you, and waited for you to unmask. Tell them truly."

And Marcus dog-like shivers a happy shiver, and smiles a passionless smile. "Balance. Power needs balance. We've reset the scales with a little loss to you and a little gain for us. We've danced as long as we needed. The Senior Partners are satisfied."

With a smile that comes close to a sneer, he continues. "The Black Thorn was based on antiquated ways. We needed them gone to streamline the process of expanding our operations. They were still writing documents in the blood of infants when all that was needed was a computer file in the right database to change the course of history.

You were our hands and blades. In return you live. It's all you scratch my back and I'll scratch yours. Surely, Angel you understand the concept."

I do. I've been duped and used just as people are every damned day. Just as Cordy was time and again. Even her final gift was a fraud. Just as this friendly chat among enemies is a cheat.

The blade arcs in the air the silvered filigrees in the steel grabbing the light greedily. 'Watch me', it shrieks as it flies faster than the eye can see. I scream and scream and urge it with my arms, my shoulders, and my legs springing forward into the blow. And Illyria is in front of Spike blocking retribution, absorbing it effortlessly and sparking red changing to magenta and then to neon blue. And he sweeps his hands down and holds a shiny-cheeked head in both hands, raised high. The blood flows down his arms and he smears his face with the slowing flow. Eyes glaring through the smeared darkness and I'll never see Fred in him again.

Illyria jams it's hand against the flow and stalks delicately to Gunn, kneels beside him and puts its gore filled hand to his mouth. Pries his lips open and shoves that hand into his mouth. I hear him suck weakly and swallow. I hold Spike back and wait remembering that blood coursing down my own throat.

Illyria stands, facing me with the head clasped between her palms. Then she presses, and before the bones shatter, while they creak against the pressure, the mouth purses open. The tongue moves purposefully touching the bottom of the top row of teeth.

No air, no sound. But he just named us all. "Brothers."


End file.
